Stories and Dreamlike Skies

Last night, white clouds rushed across the dark sky like ghosts of morning. Like a Victorian vicar's daughters having relinquished propriety along with their bodies to scud across the moors of their uncouth dreams. Rain fell - wild poetry of the sea.

This morning is dew-laced sunshine and chiffon skies.

The world is not a story but a compendium of tales. Or maybe not even that, but a gathering of excerpts, poems, glimpses, untitled pieces, tossed about. I used to think I was the same, but I'm learning slowly that I am a novel - intricate certainly, and with half-poems in the margins, but a contained body of work nonetheless. It's only that I have been reading aloud from other people's books for too long.

I am the afternoon falling quietly, rose-lit and cold, into a night storm. And you? What weather, what form of story, what strange metaphor, are you? You don't need to tell me, but I wonder, do you know?


  1. I think I am a mixture of heavy wet snow, wild slashing thunderstorms with just a bit of cool fall sun sprinkled mornings.
    Thank you for making me think this morning.

  2. remember those elves who helped the shoemaker in the middle of the night? I feel like one of those little elves stitching love into electric blue leather round and round the branch each night from midnight to dawn

    1. PS as an artist I always have to make my metaphors literally by taking them into the physical

  3. always when i think of this, the word that comes to me is 'palimpsest'... i am many things all at once, and contain things from other people and other times. i am a princess in a tower. a silenced woman frantically spinning nettles. i am a swan calling over the rivers. a fox guarding her kits. snow falling gently on fields. tiny flowers that may heal or may poison. a fragment of song that sticks in the mind. breakage and mending.

    and now, i must pursue this idea further on my blog, (with credit to you for the idea, of course!)... thank you for a wonderful writing prompt!



In the quiet hours, the inbetween moments and the half-light, I sometimes like to write. My books are made from fairytale shadow and old magical songs. They speak about dreams, lost wishes, longing for something beyond the self, and always about love. You can learn about them here.

All words and images are copyright Sarah Elwell. Please do not reproduce, pin, or otherwise copy anything here without first receiving my permission. Thank you. This site uses cookies from Google to deliver its services, to personalise ads and to analyse traffic. Information about your use of this site is shared with Google. By using this site, you agree to its use of cookies. To learn more please visit this link